


The War Within

by KookieAddixion



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Adultery, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Housewife!Rosita, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Los Angeles, Love Confessions, Multi, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KookieAddixion/pseuds/KookieAddixion
Summary: •______________________________________•Rosita Ford née Espinosa; expected a normal, married life with her war hero husband upon his return. For as long as he's been away, she's been a complete housewife; making sure to care for their home until his return. Home from battle, Abraham had retained a darkness Rosita never expected him to have. Now a broken, battered woman, she lives her life cooking, cleaning, and surviving with the monster until a fateful meeting out on the streets of Los Angeles. She now questions her marriage and if her future choices will shape the war within her own mind.





	The War Within

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to write a story based around  
> Rosita & Siddiq
> 
> __________________________________
> 
> NOTE: I understand that there are other shippers out there and I respect that so PLEASE respect my choice to ship this.  
> -No rude comments please, Thank You.  
> __________________________________
> 
> NOTE:  
> -This story will circle around Siddiq/Rosita but it will take place in 1950s LA (Los Angeles) so there will be ratings for this story below;  
> [M - Mature]  
> -Strong Language, Mentions of Abuse, Minimal Spoilers, Uncomfortable/Triggering Situations
> 
> (If any of these triggers make you uncomfortable PLEASE proceed with CAUTION!)  
> •______________________________________•
> 
> Without further delay,  
> I present to you...  
> ”The War Within”

The round mirror framed in white design was cleaner today than yesterday. The vanity itself was bleach white without a single chip. It looked like it was very well cared for for it’s two year old status. A glass top with three drawers stacked on either side of where the matching chair was pushed in, were decorated with lovely brass handles in shapes resembling pearled ovals. An antique from her mother, from her grandmother, from her great-grandmother and so on. Over years, the mirror didn't change much but the reflection certainly did; daily. Her husband was a ‘war hero’ who had returned to her after many years at siege. Of course he was only home because he had a mental break during the last battle and was discharged immediately. It took many long, aggravating, sleepless days and nights for Rosita to get use to her husband’s presents.

She had a secret, however, that would surely send her husband into a fit of rage if he ever found out. You see, due to the draft, male workers were taken out of their regular jobs and placed in uniforms to fight for their country. Females, however, had to give up their ‘housewife’ lifestyle and work in the remaining factories as substitutes until the still ‘able bodied’ men returned.

Abraham detested his little wife doing anything outside of their home. He wasn't sexist; okay maybe a little, but she, in his eyes, was to beautiful to work in close quarters with men or even other women. Rosita had previously had a profession of hairstyling(cosmetology). Women who wanted their hair fashioned into the latest styles would show up on her doorstep around noon and sit down patiently as she got through everyone treating each customer like a jewel. It was a wonderful career choice because she made many new friends from around the neighborhood and they constantly came back to her place of business.

The queen of hair had grown to hate her own reflection. You see, her husband had left one man and came back to her a completely different man which was understandable that his behavior would change after seeing what he saw. Rosita was intelligent enough to know that the man she married was gone and all that remained of him was this person who would occasionally have flashbacks to his breaking point.

Dabbing concealer over the dark bruises around her right eye, her cheek and that beautiful jawline, she tried to hide as much evidence as she could. Thankful for her own skills, the battered wife was able to cover most if not all of the pain. Stand from her chair, she pushed it in ever so gently, careful not to scratch the wooden floor below and made haste to change into whatever she could find. Eventually, Rosita settled on a short sleeved, white turtleneck, a high waist, knee length pencil skirt that hugged her childbearing hips nicely, and a pair of four inch, shiny black heels; fitted only for her small, feminine feet. Today was grocery day! The only day; which was a Sunday, where most didn't work because God had wanted them to rest on the seventh day. The only things open were personal businesses, grocery stores, and church. She wasn't the church type so Abraham had gone without her. He had never forced her to go then and he wouldn't force her to go now. Hair done up in a bun on top of her head, she grabbed her round shaped, polished red purse and headed out the door as fast as those heels would take her. The beautiful female was of Latin decent, from an Island known as ‘Puerto Rico’. Many had wondered how she came about and had gotten to this great city but no one asked out of respect. She rested the straps of the purse on her forearm so that no thief could remove it from her grasp. Cautious as she was, she had no ill-will toward anyone; she was almost the town jewel. Everywhere she walked there were friendly smiles from the women who’s hair or makeup she had previously down, and tips of the hat from their generous husbands. Giving those smiles and quick ‘Good Morning’s back in a friendly manner, she carried on down the boulevard keeping her manners and wits about her.

As quiet as Sunday’s we’re suppose to be, the streets of Hollywood California were as busy and loud as ever! Cars in a haste to get anywhere, people crossing the streets in hordes trying not to get hit by the three-thousand pound vehicles and here Rosita was trying to fit into the daily hustle and bustle. After about ten minutes of walking on those ever working toes, she grabbed a shopping bag and began to shop around for what needed to fill her home. Carefully, she inspected everything starting with the vegetables. Brow eyes glancing over every fine detail to make sure they were ripened and ready for consumption. Next were the fruits she picked from the wooden crates. All this food was brought in from farmers who plowed the land and grew the plants with their own two hands. What a blessing to receive such goodies. And as her bags got full, she stood behind a woman in line who also came here with the goal to provide sustenance for her family. Person after person paid and left until it was finally her turn. Paying for her four shopping bags, she struggled to put her change into her bag so she ended up just grasping it in her hand until she was fit to put it in its rightful place. Stepping out onto the street, the wife set down the bags and quickly shoved her money in her bag and closed it, clasping the flap tightly. Gathering two bags in each hand, on she went back down the same street she had walked up not to long ago, this time with extra weight. The sky was a bright blue so spring was finally getting started. The yellow sunshine beamed down on the people making everyone delighted to get out into the warmth and humidity. Unfortunately, that warmth was making her nearly sweat off her makeup and was causing much discomfort to her arms, back and feet. Standing at the crosswalk waiting for her groups turn to shuffle over the road, she had quickly made it over and felt the weight of one bag give out. The bottom of the cheaply made bag gave weight and ripped open causing her groceries to spill onto the sidewalk. Weary from exhaustion, she sighed and dropped to her knees quickly gathering up whatever she could salvage. Most of the people stared, walked by or walked over her items. Reaching for one of the tomatoes, she felt a hand brush hers. Looking up, she was greeted with a smile from a young man with beautiful brown skin, silky black hair cut short but slicked back, and the eyes of the devil himself if he had great intentions.

“Here ya go....” The male’s voice wasn't deep but it wasn't high pitched either. It was an angelic medium that made her heart bounce a bit. The man gripped the tomato and when she didn't take it, he offered her the kindness of placing it in her bag for her. Rosita had caught herself staring at his chiseled jawline and good looks, quickly looking back down to whatever was left to pick up on the ground.

“Thank you...” Her voice was almost a whisper and they worked together to gather up almost all of what had dropped. Standing, she now only had three bags but the third was extra heavy now which caused even more discomfort. Without another word, the stubborn woman quickly, yet carefully, shuffled down the street.

The male noticed how much harder it was on the petite woman in heels to carry such a heavy load so out of the goodness of his heart, he jogged after her and only slowed to a walk when he caught up. “Would you like some help?” He didn't have an accent which suggested that he had been in LA (Los Angeles) for a fair amount of time.

“No thank you.” Was her quick and agonizing response.

The stranger nearly chuckled at her response. “You seem to be struggling a bit though.”

”And you seem to be very persistent even after I politely declined.” Oh what a sassy mouth this one had. But of course she had to have one in this world where women, especially women of ethnic origin were treated like doormats instead of human beings. Even after she had told him ‘no’ he continued to badger her until she finally gave in and handed him two of the bags, keeping one in her possession. Holding the heavy one from the bottom, he did the same with the other one in his hands; holding them up.

“Do you have a name?” Of course she had a name but he was a bit of a jester so he would make light of situations with no shimmer.

“Rosita...” The female hesitantly answered after a long pause.

“Rosita what?” The male asked without giving his name in return.

With a beautiful Latin accent she reluctantly answered “Rosita Espinoza-....Ford.” So proud she was to say the first two names but trailed a bit when it came to the third. She had spent the whole walk not thinking about her newly abusive husband.

“Miss Rosita-“

“Mrs. Ford.” She cut him off fast before he could finish.

He raised a dark, thick eyebrow. “MRS Ford,” He emphasized the ‘Mrs.’. “My name is Siddiq.” With pride in his voice, he announced to her what she may call him if she so chose to do so. Siddiq was a male who’s parents actually immigrated from a country in the far land known as ‘India’. They had left their home to venture here and give their son a better place to grow. Unknowingly to them, they would face much racism and many problems to get to the status they were at now. Their money from their native country, their beautiful fabrics, and their polished jewelry was worth much more in America so they because high class society. Siddiq had left home at the ripe age of twenty to venture to ‘The City of Angels’ to find his own way and not live off of his parents fortune. Of course it wasn't easy for a male of color to become a studying physician like he wanted to. He had studied for nearly two years now; facing the same racism his parents had to to reach their goals and due to his strong mind and skilled hands, he became a well known doctor around the main hospital building. A surgeon he was; one of the youngest actually to ever set food in an operating room. The hospital staff welcomed him with open arms as he saved life after life. Though he was an infamous legend, he spent his Sunday’s walking around the ‘Hollywood Boulevard’ trying to catch the latest shows with music, dancing and mesmerizing theatrics.

Rosita kept her eyes fixed forward trying not to cause a stir among the people she recognized as the pair walked side by side. She tried to walk ahead of him but his longer strides and long legs allowed him to keep up and even walk farther than she. As they reached the suburbs where her cute little, light blue painted home stood, the white picket fence that bordered her yard came into view. It was a one story home; like many of the suburban homes in this area with a long walkway leading from the small platform porch to the sidewalk. Wide as it was, it was smaller inside which made it easier to keep clean. She and her husband had bought this house from the bank only three years prior to the draft and she had spent a year alone in it. Faithful, she never invited men in even though they be persistent about giving her company. Only close family and friends were allowed in for tea, coffee, and long gossiping conversations about everything. As they approached the gate of the white fence, she reached over to the other side and unmatched the lock. Pushing it open, she stopped suddenly and turned to the man.

“Thank you but I can take it from here.” With only a slight attitude, she looked him firmly in his face and he gave a confident smile. Placing the bags down on the inside of her dance without stepping foot on the property, he dashed her a gleaming white smile and took a few steps back. Rosita closed and locked the gate and dragged the bags carefully to the porch. Siddiq was still standing there when she turned around from unlocking her door. He have a quick wave and turned, walking away without another word. Rosita felt a slight pull at her lips but quickly stopped a smile from forming. Rolling her chocolate brown eyes, she shook her head and carried her groceries indoors, shitting and locking the door behind her. Siddiq turned to the house once more to get a final glance before disappearing down the street. The female was peeping out of her curtained window and watched his silhouette vanish from view leaving her alone in an empty home.

Groceries put away in their sorted places, home cleaned; dusted and vacuumed, windows polished and laundry finished; Rosita had time to pour herself a glass of white wine and sit in front of the radio listening to news from around her city. On her woven material couch, she leaned on the armrest and curled her legs up onto the sofa in the most comfortable way. Letting out a deep sigh, she swirled the yellow tinted wine around in the fancy glass and dipped slowly from it once every few minutes. Church was the only thing that thankfully separated her and her husband for the day. Next to her was a hidden stash of cigarettes. Abraham smoked but these were hers. Once a day she would suck the nicotine from the sticks in a effort to keep herself sane. Of course when she would occasionally hear a car drive by or sound like it was stopping in front of her house, she would hide the ashtray under the couch. The redhead male would probably give her a stern hand if he found out she was turning into one of those strung out disobedient types. Usually the ones who smoked around here also had a hidden agenda as a prostitute or a wayward women and she definitely wasn’t that type of female. She had touched up her makeup prior to her drinking session so she wouldn't have to look herself in the face for the rest of the day. It was exhausting seeing bruise after bruise appear on her once flawless skin. Now she had become a punching bag to her own husband. Alcohol and cigarettes were her only release from the constant pain and stress.

”...And now, the number one song on the radio today; 'Jail house Rock' by Elvis Presley!”

The radio announcer exclaimed as he put the record on to play for everyone listening. She had a soft spot for Elvis’s music because it kept her going through the day. She also loved ‘Conway Twitty’, ‘Buddy Holly’, ‘Ray Charles’ and a few others who kept her dancing through the lonely days. Of course that happiness was short lived as she heard a car door shut. Panic set in and she shoved the ashtray under the couch along with her full cigarette pack and sat back down acting like she was doing nothing suspicious. A red headed male with a red mustache walked through the door closing it slightly harder than usual behind him. He was muscular, tall, and could basically intimidate anyone he looked at with those bright blue eyes.

“Rosy!” He called for her. He didn't bother to remove his polished boots as he stepped inside onto her freshly cleaned carpet. His voice was slightly deeper than most but his temper was deeper. “Rosita!”

As much as she wanted to, she didn't dare answer with ‘what!?’ Because that would end in violence like it had for some of her girl-friends. Setting her wineglass down on the end table beside her, she swung her legs off of the couch and got up to greet him.

With hatred in her heart she put on a fake smile. “Welcome home darling!” Running up to him acting like she missed him, she took his coat and hung it over her arm. “How was the service today?” The male dressed in a white tank top, and nearly baggy, dark olive pants grunted knowing she didn't really care. Accepting his grunt, the little wife hung his jacket on the pegs by the door and returned to him noticing the dirty shoe prints he left on her white carpet. Growling low, she fixed her attitude. “Are you hungry Darling?”

The male sat down in his recliner and changed the obnoxious song playing on the radio to something less Rock N Roll. He didn't answer her; he only expected from her. With little to no time to waste, Rosita switched into chef mode and began to prepare a delicious lunch. Lunch was usually when they would munch down different types of soup depending on the day so today she would prepare a nice hamburger meat soup with tomatoes, potatoes, celery, and as many veggies as would fit. Seasoning the broth, she let it simmer for a bit. She decided it best to stay in the kitchen while she prepared the food so she wouldn't have to see his face. When everything was all cooked and piping hot, she used a large soup spoon to scoop the contents into a white bowl.

Placing a clean rag under it, she carefully walked into the living room. Unfortunately gravity wasn't on her side and she accidentally spilled a little on Abraham’s pants while trying to hand it to him. Of course the burning sensation was painful and he quickly stood up catching her off guard. Using the back of his hand, he swiftly gained momentum striking her in her other cheek. This caused the fragile woman to drop the soup on her leg; instantly causing her to scream in agony and fall to the now stained carpet in tears. “Watch what you’re doing next time bitch!” He shouted at the sobbing female and stomped away to clean himself up. Rosita could feel her right leg skin bubbling; burning and causing her face to turn red. She had no interest in the hand print on her face but the burn on her skin. The pain felt like a thousand knives cutting her over and over but she could only pull herself up and limp to the kitchen; hot soup dripping off her skin. She left a trail of broth and veggies as she made her way to the sink. Grabbing a rag, she soaked it in cold water and cleaned up herself, hissing every time she had to touch the burn mark. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and she quickly wiped them away. Strong as she was, she couldn't hide the pain she was in. On a scale of one to ten, this was a one hundred and she prayed to god to make it stop. Rinsing the rag and changing the water every few minutes, she lifted it to take a peek at the damage. Unfortunately burns of that caliber would definitely become scars due to major trauma to the skin. From what she could see, the redness didn't have much of a beginning or an end; it extended from her pinky toe to below her knee. Thankfully her shirt had stopped it from drenching up her thigh. Silently, she limped to the bathroom to grab her well packed first aid bag. It had everything stored from gauze, to bandages and many other remedies. Swiping it from the cabinet under the sink? She sat on the closed lid of the toilet and quietly closed the door. Locking it, she began to treat her own wound by applying ointment to the area as carefully as she could the wrapping it in gauze to help the burn heal better. Her fingers had gotten little circles burns on them so she had to wrap three on her left hand and all five on her right. Standing with the help of the sink, she balanced enough to look at her face in the glass mirror. How ugly that hand print was. Her face was redder than Elizabeth Taylor’s lipstick and her cheeks were stained with many tear trails. Hair disheveled, she wiped her skin and went out to clean up the mess the best she could.

He use to love her in the beginning. She had found out that Abraham had a mistress before he left to fight in Nam. Her name started with an ‘S’ but it was unknown to Rosita. Gossip stretched far in this close knit suburban area so it wasn't hard to find out what she looked like. Maggie, a close friend from a few houses down had told Rosita of the time she saw Abraham and his secret mistress smooching in a back alley by the market. Maggie has also explained that it was a mocha skinned beauty whom she recognized from her nursing job. Rosita never looked into those rumors but felt in her belly that they were true. In a way, she guessed that she had gotten to boring for him but divorce was frowned upon in their current society and she would end up losing everything she worked to maintain. It was expensive to leave your husband and it was a stupid thing to do. More than likely the beaten wife would end up on the street; homeless and begging or as something much worse. It pained her soul to see their once proud marriage turn to shambles without any strength to fix it. Once he went to war and came back, he was a total different person. Each day he was home was worse than the day before. Over and over new problems began to arise making her more unhappy with each passing sun. He had voiced to her about baring him a strong son but she refused to give him any sort of child out of fear. If he put his hands on her so easily, her child would be in an equal amount of danger and she couldn't bare to witness it. Every time they had relations, she would quickly run to the bathroom and force toxic pills down her throat to kill her womb. The first year was painful but after doing it so much, she became use to the stabbing aching. These forbidden drugs would then pollute her organs until she became barren killing her dreams of ever being a mother. These pills turned her uterus black and stopped her eggs from attaching anywhere. All together they stopped providing and eventually died off. She did go to a doctor but they only confirmed what she already knew.

Monday came fast as the sun peaked into the living room through the slightly open curtains. Rose slept on the couch and woke up in the same clothes she had worn the day before. Went to sleep hungry, in pain, and confused as to what she should do next. Tossing and turning all night, she barely got any good rest so now she was exhausted on top of it all. Looking at the clock, it read ‘11:45 AM’ and that meant that Abraham already left for work without waking her up. There was no remorse in what he had done to her, he just didn't wanna deal with her struggling to prepare his breakfast and lunch so instead, he fled to his secret lovers house without leaving so much as a note. Sitting up, she ignored the burning sensation on her skin, she forced herself up just as a knock echoed on the front door. Did she really wanna see anyone today? No. But in her own mind it would be rude to ignore them. Limping, she rounded the couch and opened the door surprised to see the stranger from yesterday who helped her with her bags standing before her. They stared at each other silently for a moment. Quickly, the male traced her over noticing how wrecked she looked compared to her primped yesterday self.

“Morning,” He started trying to make it seem like he didn't notice her recent wounds and tired look in her eyes. “I just stopped by to give you this,” Siddiq lifted up a baggy of fresh fruit. “I grow fruits in my garden at home and thought you might like some fresh ones.” How kind and humble this stranger was to her even though he only new her name. All Rosita could do was stare at him and shift her eyes occasionally from the bag back to Siddiq’s eyes. In a sense, she thought he might be a stalker but he was genuinely being nice. Breaking the silence, he gently reached for her hand and placed the bag in her bandages hand careful not to cause her pain. “They’re a special kind; completely natural.” The giving man continued. Standing aside, Rosita silently invited the male into her home.

“Sorry about the mess...” Her voice was raspy almost as she spoke and closed the door. Gripping the bag the best she could, she walked into the kitchen to place them in the fridge and get her guest a cup of coffee.

Siddiq looked around but noticed nothing. “What mess...?” He was baffled because the place was practically spotless. A person could eat off the carpet if their food ever fell. Mixing in some sugar and milk, she walked back to the male and handed him a white mug filled with fresh caffeine. Humbly, he accepted it and thanked her. They both sat down on silence for a good fifteen minutes as Siddiq dipped at the hot liquid. “I noticed your wounds.” He broke the silence causing Rosita to hide her fingers in her lap. “Did he do that to you...your husband?” Of course it was a personal question and he didn't expect her to answer right away.

“It was my fault...I spilled hot soup on myself while I was making lunch.” The female lied without looking up from her hands. Siddiq had no choice but to believe her even though he didn't. He could see how her entire right leg was bandaged, how her fingers were barely moving, and the sharp lined knuckle prints on her face. He wasn't stupid, he could easily piece these things together.

”Mind if I take a took?” He asked. “I’m a doctor.” Hesitantly, he slowly stretched her leg out. He placed his cup on the table in front of them and knelt down. Unwrapping her left slowly, he inspected the new addition to her skin; boils pushing up out of her extremely red skin. “See these boils? You have to clean this wound every single day at least three times; morning, noon, and night to ensure you don’t have excessive damage.” Gently placing his hand under her ankle, and the other under her knee, he began to slowly move her leg up and down. She winces of course but let the doctor work without interruption. He began to push his nail into he skin under her toes and asked if she could feel it. All five toes she replied with a yes and he moved on. Bandaging the wound after cleaning it, he moved on to her hardworking hands. He began to removed the wraps one by one noticing how lovely her hands were. These must have come from her mother; most women had their mother’s beautiful hands. Inspecting them, he found she could wiggle them and wrapped them up again careful not to cause her more pain. Quietly, the two sat there as Siddiq sipped at his coffee. It seemed like forever until the silence was finally broken. “He did this to you...didn't he?” He assumed. “Your husband.” Rosita turned away almost refusing to answer his prying question. “Tch,” He sucked his teeth scrunching his face, he started to get angry. “What kind of monster would put his hands on a woman?” Shaking his head he glanced at the female who was staring downward. “I should probably get going.” Standing, the male walked himself to the door and quickly left without another word. He wasn't upset at the 'Mrs' in the least but he was upset that he had to see a flower like that. The anger he felt building in his belly was enough to make him sick. He barely knew her but he needed to do something to save her before it was to late.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank YOU very much for taking the time to read my story!  
> I had written it some time ago for another site but now it's just sitting there collecting dust.  
> Thanks to a recommendation from a close friend, i've decided to post it here hoping to make it something spectacular!  
> This is only part 1 of a multiple part series! :D
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!  
> Thank you again!  
> -K~Addixion


End file.
